


Daddy, why don't you protect me?

by adri92



Category: Marvel
Genre: Gen, Idk other characters sort of make it into here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adri92/pseuds/adri92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a little over six months. The incomplete Barton family have somewhat settled into a routine. Kate still babysits from time to time. Sometimes Tony shows the kids some new gadgets. Slowly, Clint learns to cut the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into triangles and how to write a check and how to braid Violet’s hair. Her braid still has the tendency of having tufts of hair sticking out, but it will do. Clint secures it with a purple ribbon. He takes Francis more frequently to the range. The younger Barton gets better every time and Clint can’t help but beam with pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy, why don't you protect me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weatheredlaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/gifts).



It is late and way past the kids’ bedtime. First, he tucks in Francis then Violet. Francis understands better than his little sister does. He is eleven and she is five. “When’s mommy coming home?” The blonde little girl asks for the twentieth time that week. And for the twentieth time Clint has to explain that Bobbi isn’t coming home ever, that she will be asleep for a very long time. And for the twentieth time that week, Clint has to lay down with Violet until she tires herself from crying and falls asleep. It has been a week since Bobbi died. In that week, Tony and Steve and Kate have tried coming by but Clint won’t even open the door or answer the phone.  
There are bags under his eyes and when he pads across the hallway floor, he hears Francis’ door creak open.  
“Go back to bed,” Clint says without turning back.  
“I can’t sleep,” the boy answers. I can’t either.  
“Try to.”  
Francis slams the door and Clint waits and crosses his fingers that it won’t wake Violet up. It doesn’t. He makes it back to his room—their room. The full-length mirror is still shattered. On the dresser there are flipped down picture frames. He walks to the closet and shuffles through her clothes and his fingers lightly tread across the fabric. Everything is just how Bobbi had left it. He inhales deeply and makes a poor attempt not to cry. He remembers when Bobbi first told him she was pregnant with Francis. She was nervous, but when she revealed her secret, Clint felt elated but terrified. He wasn’t sure that he could be a good father, but he wanted to try and he wanted to be better than his father. When the little boy was born, there was no doubt in Clint’s mind that this what he wanted; he wanted to be an Avenger and a father. Violet wasn’t planned either. And if it were possible, Clint was even more terrified the second time around. But the moment she was born, she was his princess and she had him wrapped around her finger.  
Tears trickle down his face and he balls some denim in his fist. “I can’t do this without you,” he stammers under his breath.. Clint knows how to teach the kids to use a bow and arrow, how to prank Steve and Tony, how to make a spitball. He doesn’t know how to talk to them about death. He doesn’t know how they like their lunches packed for school. Crawling into bed, he curls up and buries his face against the pillow.

 

It is six in the morning when Clint wills himself out of bed. There is no use in wallowing in bed for hours or days or weeks. He has two kids to worry about. He has his job. There isn’t time to waste and he convinces himself that if he keeps himself busy, the pain will subside. Walking into the kitchen, he switches the light on and finds himself face-to-face with Kate. It is pointless to ask how she has gotten in. He doesn’t really even acknowledge her as he measures out coffee grounds into the coffee maker.  
“Go back to bed.” She is the first to speak.  
“I have things to do.” He turns on the coffeemaker.  
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll babysit. You need to rest.”  
“I’ve rested. But I’ll take ya up on that babysitting offer?” There is reluctance in his voice, but he knows she won’t leave or take no for an answer.  
“Yeah?” She raises an eyebrow.  
“Yeah. Gotta get back to training.”  
She almost asks Seriously. But she understands that he doesn’t know how not throw himself right back into work. “You sure you don’t want to talk, Hawkeye?”  
“Talk about what?”  
A sleepy Violet walks in, small fists rubbing her eyes. “Hey,” he says and hesitates before picking her up. She looks just like her mother. She even scowls at him the same way when he says something stupid.  
“Can I has some coffee too?” She yawns. Normally, Clint would pour her some in a cup because she argued she was a big girl now. But Clint remembers Bobbi’s disapproving looks, so he shakes his head.  
She pouts and starts to ask Why? He sets her back down and looks away.  
“Hey, go wake your brother up. I’m taking you two somewhere,” Kate pipes in and Clint is grateful.  
“Where?” She rubs her eyes where tears had started to form.  
“It’s a surprise,” Kate smiles.  
That is enough to get her to run back down the hallway and into Francis’ room.  
“Thanks,” Clint says and pours himself a cup of coffee.  
“Don’t mention it. Behave, alright?”  
He scoffs.  
“You’re okay, Barton. Anybody ever tell you that?”  
And he almost smiles.

 

It has been a little over six months. The incomplete Barton family have somewhat settled into a routine. Kate still babysits from time to time. Sometimes Tony shows the kids some new gadgets. Slowly, Clint learns to cut the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into triangles and how to write a check and how to braid Violet’s hair. Her braid still has the tendency of having tufts of hair sticking out, but it will do. Clint secures it with a purple ribbon. He takes Francis more frequently to the range. The younger Barton gets better every time and Clint can’t help but beam with pride.  
It’s Violet’s first day of kindergarten and Clint can’t believe how fast she’s grown up. He takes a picture of her though she argues against it. The still image has her standing in the middle of the kitchen, hand on one hip, and she’s pursed her lips. He smiles and keeps it posted on the front of the fridge door. She has her backpack slung over her shoulder that Clint helped decorate the night before. There’s a big target painted on it. But Violet insisted on adding sequins despite Clint’s objections. But she’s smiling for the first time in a while and Clint won’t take that away from her.  
It is Francis’ twelfth birthday. Clint hasn’t mastered baking a red velvet cake just yet; a store-bought one will have to do. Wrapping gifts is also not part of his list of skills so he simply hands his son a brand new bow. It is weightier, no longer a kids’ bow. The guests have all left by now. There are an array of gifts still left untouched as Francis is too fascinated with his new bow to care about anything else. Violet has chocolate all around her mouth and Clint gently wipes it off with a wet paper towel. Soon, she falls asleep curled up on the couch with Toy Story in the background. Clint cleans up as best he could even though Natasha had insisted that she would send someone in the morning.  
“Dad, I wanna be an Avenger. Like you. Like mom was.” Clint knows he is serious and that scares him.  
“Not happening.”  
“Why not?”  
“’Cause I said so.” ‘Cause I’m not letting what happened to her happen to you. “You’re too young to be thinking ‘bout that anyhow.”  
Francis furrows his brows and scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do. I wish mom were here.” Clint doesn’t want him to finish that sentence because even if Francis doesn’t say it, Clint knows Bobbi was the better parent.  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He tries to keep his voice low as he doesn’t want to wake Violet up or to scare her.  
“Nothing.” He starts to storm off.  
“Francis.”  
“I hate you.” He mutters it but it is audible enough. He slams the door to his room shut.  
“Join the club.”

 

Clint goes on a mission. It isn’t ordinary. Not that they’re ever really. There’s always something new, different. But this is personal. Francis has gone missing. Kate insists on coming and Violet is left in Steve’s care. She doesn’t sleep the same anymore. She kicks and screams and asks for her brother. “Daddy’ll bring Francis back, okay?” He had reassured her before leaving.  
Francis hadn’t hinted to where he had gone and all they really knew is that Francis was hunting down clues as to what exactly had happened to his mother. It is stupid. It is reckless. And Clint blames himself because he hasn’t given up hope on avenging Bobbi’s death. Because he also is reckless and stupid. Clint’s decided that when they find him, he’ll ground him for a week, take the TV away. Or something. It has been over a week and Kate is like an overplayed tape, We’ll find him. We’ll find him. He believes her. He has to.  
It is day nine. They have camped out and Clint is on patrol when he finds Francis’ lifeless body. An arrow is lodged in his chest and blood has stained his shirt. The boy’s eyes are half open, but there is only stillness. There’s a note: One of us is going to have to kill the other. It isn’t signed but Clint knows who to attribute it to. He know who is baiting him. Crushing the paper in his fist, then dislodged the arrow from Francis’ chest. He cradles the lifeless boy against his chest. Holding him close, he cries and he yells in anguish and anger. Nothing could change Clint’s mind, it was his fault; he couldn’t protect his own son. He doesn’t know how long he kneels there and cries before Kate finds him. But he does recall hearing her gasp. He doesn’t know who brings them home. He doesn’t know who pries Francis from him.  
“Where’s Francis?” Violet probes.  
“He’s with mommy.” Clint’s eyes are swollen and red.  
She’s wailing now and all Clint can do is hold her to him before she’s pushing him away.  
“You promised,” she says in between sobs.  
He stays silent. He had. He had promised and he had failed. She loosens herself from his grip. Someone picks her up into their arms as Clint turns away. He’ll find Barney even if it’s the last thing he does.


End file.
